


Let Some Things Slide

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [30]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 18:24:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18580066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington misses his boy.





	Let Some Things Slide

Washington is reasonably certain he should regret kissing Alexander. He has no excuses, no pretext, no explanation for what _should_ feel like a monstrous lapse in judgment. He has no way to rationalize what he’s done, and that is supposed to matter.

Perhaps he’s simply tired of playing the hypocrite. What’s the point of holding himself back from committing physical transgressions, when he has already conceded to being irredeemably compromised?

"Gil, _please_ slow our descent," Washington mutters when he glances at the shuttle's trajectory readouts and realizes just how fast his helmsman is bringing them down. He should not be surprised—he _isn't_ surprised—but he will also never approve of Lafayette's need to push the outermost limits of common sense.

Honestly, between Elizabeth Schuyler's desire to tear apart and rebuild every piece of equipment on the ship, John Laurens's temper, Lafayette's thrill-seeking, and Hamilton's stubborn inability to overlook even the smallest diplomatic slight… There are days Washington hardly believes he still has a ship at all.

"You are no fun," Lafayette retorts, but he levels out their descent.

Washington breathe more easily, and takes his eyes off the console. "I don't think it's unreasonable that I prefer to arrive at the negotiation site in one piece."

"They should not need us at this summit at all." Lafayette sounds distinctly unimpressed. "This isn't even a peace treaty. There's no military conflict. There is nothing but financial squabbling between the Crix and the Foi'ai. Surely they can sort this economic nonsense out for themselves."

"There's no harm requesting a neutral third party to assist with delicate negotiations," Washington chides. "Their entire sector has been suffering from a prolonged fiscal depression. The summit is an important first step to finding a remedy."

"How?"

" _That_ is a complicated question," Washington says, "and classified above your security clearance." He doesn't mention the fact that, clearance or not, he’s already consulted with Hamilton. Even though it won’t be Washington's job to proffer solutions, he wanted to understand the scope of the problem. Starfleet's detailed briefing left his head spinning between taxes, tariffs, loan caps, internal and external revenue streams. The very concept of money is so far outside his experience as to confound him.

After several hours of explanation from Hamilton, Washington feels better equipped to face down this assignment.

Now if only he could simply teleport to the waiting location instead of navigating a shuttle craft along a lengthy and circuitous route to the planet's surface. It really is remarkable how often the Nelson comes across worlds whose atmosphere renders transporter use impossible, or at the very least unsafe. For such a convenient technology, it lets them down with alarming regularity.

But at least they are drawing near now. And within five minutes Lafayette announces final approach and sets the shuttle down on a rooftop landing platform.

"Ready for this, Captain?" Lafayette asks with a grin.

"As I will ever be."

The negotiation takes nine straight days. It's a long time to be away from his ship—away from his crew—away from his boy. All the worse for the fact that Washington feels completely out of his depth. In the evenings, when Washington finds himself alone in luxurious guest quarters, he contacts the Nelson. Hamilton is always happy to answer his questions from the day, but Washington wishes more than once that his boy were _here_ —at the negotiating table beside him instead of hours out of reach.

But he doesn't have the clout to change the parameters of such a delicate assignment. The parties were very clear in their demands for secrecy, and Washington's orders come from Admiral Womack herself. It doesn't matter that Hamilton is the only officer onboard truly qualified to handle this assignment. He is still not allowed at the table, and there's nothing Washington can do about it.

On day ten, the parties seem to abruptly agree that their goals have been achieved. Washington honestly doesn't understand the how of it, but he keeps his mouth shut. Solving their problems was never his job.

It's a relief to board the shuttle with Lafayette in tow.

" _Now_ can you tell me details about the mission?" Lafayette asks lightly.

Washington's chuckle is exhausted. "Still classified."

"Then I will have to regale you with epic tales of exploring the capital city while I waited for your top secret mission to end."

The tale is _not_ especially epic, in fact, but it is expansive, and Washington is happy to listen. Lafayette requires very little by way of encouragement, which means Washington can finally give his tired mind a rest. For a week and a half he has spent every waking moment confused and on high alert, doing his best to keep up with concepts far above his proverbial pay grade. It's a relief to relax into his own head and simply let Lafayette talk at him, as the shuttle takes off for their hours-long return trip.

By the time they step from craft to shuttle bay, back aboard the Nelson where they belong, it's nearly ship's-midnight. Washington is too exhausted to even bid Lafayette a proper goodnight, but his friend seems unperturbed as they part ways.

Washington is grateful to reach his door without interruption, and even more grateful that he will not be required on the bridge tomorrow. He'll resume his normal duty shifts in due course, but tomorrow he intends to do nothing besides recuperate from his lengthy mission.

He steps into his quarters and does not even bother to call for lights as he strips out of his uniform and changes into pajamas. The planet reflects a shimmering blue glow through the viewport, not so bright as to make him tint the windows to block out the light, but plenty to see by.

Plenty to illuminate the fact that Washington's bed is not empty, once his eyes are adjusted and he emerges from his washroom ready for sleep.

Alexander lies facing the wall, wearing one of Washington's sleep shirts, hair loose and messy on Washington's pillow. The sight sends a lightning bolt of affection through Washington's chest, and for a moment all he can do is stare.

Finding his boy asleep in his bed feels… Inevitable. As though this is the only possible progression of the strange and circuitous path they’ve been following. He wonders if Hamilton is only here because he knew Washington would return tonight, or if his boy has slept here the entire duration of the mission.

He also marvels that Hamilton didn’t wake with his arrival, despite the fact that he was making no effort to be quiet. Maybe it’s no surprise the boy has run himself ragged in Washington's absence. They are neither of them especially good at being apart.

The stillness holds as he considers his options. Wake Hamilton and send him away. Climb into bed as though this is a perfectly normal occurrence. Something between those two extremes, perhaps. A proper conversation. Asking his boy _why he is here_.

Finally Washington moves, more quietly as he slips into his bed and fits himself beneath the covers. He slides across the mattress until he is pressed along Alexander's back. A slow breath, a moment to be certain he really is doing this, and then he drapes one arm forward across Alexander's stomach. Tucking him close. Smiling at the sleepy sigh as Alexander nestles into his warmth.

There are so many reasons not to do this, and Washington does not care.

He closes his eyes, breathes in Alexander’s scent, and drifts slowly—lazily—to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Atmosphere, Revenue, Depression
> 
> I also hang out **[over on Dreamwidth](https://dreamlittleyo.dreamwidth.org/)** , if you'd like to find me. (And have set up a **[Hamilton/Washington Community](https://whamilton.dreamwidth.org/)** over there, just a heads up to anyone who might be interested :)


End file.
